


brave mercutio is

by girodelles_waifu



Series: Rose and Blade (what say you to my suit) [3]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Takarazuka Revue Musicals
Genre: benvolio montague: professional mom friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22108354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girodelles_waifu/pseuds/girodelles_waifu
Summary: Benvolio's first meeting with Verona's newest troublemaker. (Written for 'what say you to my suit', but works fine on its own.)
Series: Rose and Blade (what say you to my suit) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591387
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	brave mercutio is

The first thing Benvolio sees of the newest arrival in Verona is two purple leather boots kicking as several older Capulet boys hold him down in the fountain. He runs over, shouting, even though he has no supporters to back him up today besides his fathers’ elderly hound, and the Capulets are startled enough that he’s able to grab the boy’s arm and drag him out of the fountain before they can react, pulling him over to the Montague side.

“Is that one of yours, then?” one of the Capulets demands.

“Who the hell cares!” Benvolio yells back, patting the back of the boy’s sodden jacket as he coughs. “Leave him alone!”

“If he learns to stay out of Capulet territory!”

Now that the boy is out of their hands and they would have to set foot on Montague ground to get him back, the Capulets gradually lose interest and head out of the plaza with a few more shouted insults and vulgar gestures.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Benvolio says, leading the boy further into Montague territory just to be safe before stopping on the steps of a shop. “You can’t mess with the Capulets all on your own!”

“I wasn’t…” Benvolio tries to tell how old the boy is as he sits down on the steps. Certainly younger than himself, and probably barely older than Romeo. He looks tiny, especially with his hair soaking wet and sticking to his face, and his dripping clothes clinging to his shoulders. “All I did was throw a f—”

“Language,” Benvolio says instinctively.

“A goddamn apple,” the boy finishes with a defiant glare up at him. “And then they were asking me what House I was in, whatever that means, and I said they could go f—go to hell. And then…” he laughs and makes a splashing motion with his hand.

“They might have killed you!” Benvolio exclaims, aghast at the boy’s flippancy.

Rolando climbs stiffly up the steps to lick the boy’s face and he puts his arms around the dog’s neck, hiding his face in the rough brindled fur. “Let them, what do I care.”

“That’s no way to...wait here,” Benvolio says before running up the steps into the shop. The shopkeeper grumbles a little as he drips onto the stone floor, but takes his money all the same. “What’s your name?” Benvolio asks as he sits back down next to the boy. His clothes, though ruined now, look expensive, but the purple isn’t a color worn by any House in Verona. Perhaps he’s a travelling merchant’s son; that would explain why he didn’t know any better than to inflame the Capulets’ always ready anger.

“Mercutio,” the boy mumbles into Rolando’s fur, although he starts to look over as Benvolio begins slicing one of the oranges he bought with his knife.

“And where—watch it!” Benvolio pulls the knife away as Mercutio grabs for an orange slice. “Here, you don’t have to lose your fingers for it,” he says, handing him a slice. “Where are your parents? I’ll take you home.”

Mercutio bites into the orange. “Dead,” he says around the mouthful. “Last month.”

“...Oh. Sorry.” _I should have guessed,_ Benvolio thinks. Even though Verona had been one of the cities least affected by the epidemic that swept across the region that summer, there had still been dozens of deaths among the Montague faction alone.

“Whatever.” Mercutio shakes his head to get some of the water out of his hair, and laughs as Benvolio ducks. “So I live here now. It’s fine.” He scrambles onto the railing of the steps and sits there, swinging his legs.

“I should still take you home,” Benvolio says, getting up and patting Rolando as the dog nudges his leg. “Where are you staying?”

Mercutio shrugs and smiles. “I don’t know where anything is in this place.”

 _And I’ve only gotten him more lost by dragging him over here._ “Alright, come with me and I’ll at least get you some dry clothes before we figure out where you belong.”

Benvolio’s mother isn’t home when he leads Mercutio up to the house, but Romeo and a cluster of other Montague children are sitting on the steps eating cookies she had left to cool on the windowsill. Several of them look up guiltily as Benvolio approaches.

Benvolio folds his arms. “Did you _ask_ …?”

Bellario points at Romeo. “He started it!” he declares, as the others nod vigorously and mumble assent around mouthfuls of cookie.

“Okay, maybe, but Romeo is a _baby_.”

“I am not!” Romeo protests. “I’m ten years old!”

“And none of us have been able to forget it for the last three months.” Benvolio sighs. “Alright, go ahead, but don’t think you’ll be able to convince my mother I’ve eaten…” He looks at the pan as he lifts Mercutio up to grab one. “...thirty-seven cookies all by myself.” He nudges Mercutio in Romeo’s direction before opening the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

By the time Benvolio returns with one of his mother’s quilts and an old jacket of his that he hopes won’t be too big on Mercutio, Mercutio has apparently recounted the whole story, and the others are all praising him for standing up to the Capulets.

“What a brave little warrior!” Paola exclaims, handing him another cookie from the pocket of her dress.

Mercutio beams. _As if he needs encouragement,_ Benvolio thinks, but it’s the closest he’s seen him to happy since he rescued him from the fountain, so he doesn’t say anything as he drops the quilt over Mercutio. Mercutio yelps and flails dramatically, nearly knocking Romeo over as Benvolio pulls him out of the way. Everyone laughs, and Mercutio smiles at the attention as he tries to dry off his hair.

By this point, there are no cookies left to steal, and all the other Montague children slowly drift away as Benvolio helps Mercutio get his wet jacket off. “I should get you home before it gets dark,” Benvolio says, hoping to get some more answers out of him this time.

“They won’t even know I’m gone,” Mercutio says, kicking at a loose stone in the pavement as he puts on the jacket Benvolio hands him.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Benvolio says, squeezing his shoulder. “Do you remember anything about where you were staying? Is it one of the inns?”

Mercutio shrugs and mumbles something indistinct, patting Rolando’s head.

Benvolio ducks back inside the house to leave the quilt on a chair and take his mother’s pan off the sill. Mercutio follows him, gazing around from the open doorway at the small living room—one wall is still lined with his father’s bookshelves and anatomical charts, but currently most of the space is taken up with his mother’s quilting frame—and the airy kitchen that still smells of this morning’s baking.

“Keep an eye on the house, Rolando,” Benvolio says as he nudges Mercutio down the steps and turns to close the door. Rolando wags his tail and settles down slowly, his head between his paws. “Come on, let’s see if we can find where you belong,” Benvolio says, taking Mercutio’s arm and leading him out of Montague territory towards the central avenue. “Tell me if there’s anything you recognize.”

“Sure…”

As they step into the central road, Mercutio ducks behind Benvolio. Benvolio follows his line of sight to see a cluster of the Prince’s guards. _There have been a lot of them around today…_ “Don’t worry about them, Mercutio,” Benvolio says. “They’re nothing to be—” He stops as he realizes that the guards are staring back at them.

“Let’s get out of here!” Mercutio whispers urgently, tugging on Benvolio’s sleeves as the guards hurry their way.

“How many people did you manage to get angry with you since you arrived?” Benvolio whispers back. It’s too late to get away without being noticed now, and he isn’t about to run.

Mercutio shrugs and tries to hide behind Benvolio again, but one of the guards pulls him away. “Hey! Let me go!”

“Leave him alone!” Benvolio protests. “He didn’t do anything! ...Did you do something,” he whispers to Mercutio, who only shrugs, still trying to pull his arm free.

“Thank heaven we found you, Sir Mercutio!” the guard exclaims.

“Sir…?” Benvolio stares.

Mercutio laughs shrilly. “It sounds so stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Quickly, send word to the palace that the Prince’s ward has been found!”

“You live at the palace? Why didn’t you say so!” Benvolio exclaims as the guards turn their focus on him.

“What were you doing with Sir Mercutio?” demands the one holding Mercutio by the arm.

“Will you stop calling me that!”

“I was just trying to—”

“He didn’t do anything to me, alright?” Mercutio shouts. “I fell in the fountain and he helped me out, that’s all.”

“Is this true?” the guard asks, looking at Benvolio suspiciously. Mercutio stares at him insistently and puts a finger to his lips for a moment.

“Well…” the Prince probably has a right to know what Mercutio is getting himself mixed up in, but on the other hand, Mercutio is probably going to get in enough trouble just for running off. “...yes.”

Mercutio looks back at him and waves slightly as the guards lead him up the central avenue to the palace. Benvolio waves back, trying to smile. _Not likely to see him again—he probably won’t be allowed out of the palace unsupervised for years,_ he thinks. It would have been nice to have a new playmate. Romeo is still a bit too young, although he tags along after Benvolio enthusiastically no matter what he does, and Mercutio seems as if he could have used a friend. _No use wishing for what can’t happen,_ he thinks as he heads home.

The next morning, when he opens the front door to let Rolando out, he nearly trips over a small figure in purple leather sitting on the doorstep. “What the—Mercutio!?”

“Hi!” Mercutio leaps up and latches onto his arm. “What are we going to do today?” 


End file.
